


The River

by SeaWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaWitch/pseuds/SeaWitch
Summary: After Voldemort is gone, is there any reason to go on?





	

The world is black and white here. Cold and brittle and dead. The trees, the snow, the river. It is all white and pale and dead.  
  
My bare feet scratch on the frosted stone as I make my way to the centre of the bridge, but I don’t care. It’s after midnight, and there is no villain to hide from now. I lean out over the edge, watching the water move sluggishly beneath the scattered patches of ice. I think I read somewhere once that drowning in freezing cold water is like going to sleep. The cold takes you first and you drift away. I want that: to sink like a stone and drift away, no thoughts, no pain, no memories ... nothing. To sink away, embracing death and the relief it would be.  
  
_Do it._  The insidious voice, as cold and as brittle as the ice, curls around my heart.  _Don’t just stand there like some mawkish adolescent, whining about the injustice of life. Do it. Step out over the water and fall. Take your worthless life and end it._  
  
The voice is familiar, my constant companion since the summer.   
  
My hands grasp the icy stone as I prepare to step up, decided now. But then, the scrape of boots on stone draws me up straight, and I try to look natural. Just taking a walk on a winter’s night. Nothing more.  
  
I turn, and know that I fail miserably. After all, why else would I be here at this time of night? The isolated bridge, the fatally cold water, the hidden moon. Our eyes meet, and I see myself shadowed in that gaze, my sorrowing heart’s own dark twin.   
  
No words. Our paths retraced. My back pressed hard against the door of his room as he leans into me, desperation in his touch, long-fingered hands cold on my face.  
  
No words. His mouth on mine, his hands tangled in my hair. Skin on skin. Pleasure to drive away the pain if only for a little while.  
  
No words. Cradled in his arms as the darkness circles around the edges of the firelight, waiting patiently to be let in again.  
  
A soft sigh as fingers trace the fading scar on my forehead. My own fingers sweep slowly across the burn that mars the pale skin of his arm.  
  
“Should we live?” I ask, voice hoarse with disuse.  
  
“Perhaps we should try.” 

**Author's Note:**

> First uploaded to OWL these long ages past, where I wrote under the name indigofeathers - so don't worry, not stealing another author's words, just playing in JKR's backyard and putting her characters through the wringer.


End file.
